


a place to rest one's head

by Bobaleia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Making Out, One Shot, Oral Sex, boba makes puns, introspective boba fett, mutual orgasms, romantic sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26918530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobaleia/pseuds/Bobaleia
Summary: Boba Fett is waiting for Leia to wrap up her last meeting of the night and he just can't seem to get comfortable without her. Not that he'd admit as much, of course...
Relationships: Boba Fett/Leia Organa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39
Collections: RebelBounty (Boba Fett/Princess Leia) Prompts





	a place to rest one's head

**Author's Note:**

> I finally did a RebelBounty (Boba Fett/Princess Leia) Prompts entry.  
> I rolled a: 
> 
> 1\. Long Term Couple  
> 1\. Bedroom  
> 19\. Comfort
> 
> and wrote this fic (as well as, you know, created an entire AU in my head. There may be more featuring these two.) Please enjoy! Comments welcome!

Even five years after retiring (in a very loose sense of the word) from the bounty hunting buisness, trading in his trackers for a security detail job, Boba Fett still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of _sleeping._ Resting, yes. Shutting his eyes and stealing an hour to recharge, yes, if needed.

But sleeping? In a bed? For an entire six standard hours? Ridiculous.

It’s frivolous, he thinks. Wasteful, like so many other habits so-called normal Core world citizens had. They made meals far too large and far too complicated, when a simple carbo-cal bar would fulfill their nutritional needs. They wore countless outfits, when three well-fitting jumpsuits would cover any variety of needs. They even had blankets thin enough to only be used for a first layer, and pillows _not_ meant for sleeping.

Throw pillows. A stupid name for an even stupider concept.

It’s one of those pillows; small, green, with gold embroidery, that he’s stuck under his head while he waits and rests on a ridiculously uncomfortable couch, for Leia to show up. He couldn’t say she was late, not when she hadn’t provided a time she’d be back, but still, a low current of concern coursed through his veins. If he shifted a little on the couch (or _settee_ as she so strangely called it) it he’d be able to check the commlink they shared, a private channel that only could send three coded messages.

_Need help. Stay away. No danger reported._

Three simple sentences to sum up all of the types of events that had kept them apart in their four-year, entirely odd, courtship (or at least, that’s what Leia would call it. Boba just called it becoming familiar with each other.) Technically, there was a fourth code as well, but he doubted he’d ever feel the need to use it.

Much like he doubted he’d find this comfortable position on the damn couch again. There was no good place to rest his head. Honestly, this planet could learn a thing or two about comfort from simpler planets like Tatooine. After all, even the Mos Eisley cantina seats could be sat in, more or less. Meanwhile, this place had chairs that were _decorative_ , carved from strange ancient lumber that aged to the point they could no longer hold weight. And yet, the palace still kept them around, cluttering up hallways and collecting dust.

He’d asked Leia, only half-joking, if one of her first laws as Queen could be to remove the damn chairs. She’d just laughed and kissed him. Which, admittedly, hadn’t been half-bad, and the subsequent activities had _certainly_ not been bad at all. A private grin plays on his face, as he recalls the way her body had felt against his that night. How she’d told him that no, she wouldn’t make that law, but she’d show him now that she was a queen, at least to him, at least in this bed.

She’d knelt above him, her pale hands splayed on his chest, her rings glittering like stolen stars, and taken control of both of their pleasures. He remembers the night in blindingly heated flashes. The feeling of warmth spreading through him. The hunger growing within them both, making their movements nearly frantic. How he’d torn off her royal gown and she’d left nail marks over his chest. How, at the end, they’d climaxed together, his hands tangled in her long hair and her perfect lips murmuring his name, over and over.

Boba shifts on the couch, now uncomfortable for a _very_ different reason. He checks his comm. Nearly midnight, at least on this world.

His desire burns at the edge of his thoughts, a constant drum beat keeping him on edge. It’s the sort of fire that, had he still lived abroad Slave I, it would have been easy to push away. Physical pleasure in that life had been rare. A night, here and there. A moment with Leia, stolen between Alliance meetings. A holo call with her, if he ever found himself in a safe bit of empty space, where words did as much as visuals to help them both find mutual pleasure, even though they were separated by countless lightyears.

But now? To live in a place where he wakes to her kisses, and falls asleep to her warm body against his? To have the pleasure of her touch while he washes in the ‘fresher, or in the middle of the afternoon? It was a decadent luxury that seemed to only fan the fires of his wanting. Because she wanted him too, and she was never more than a few rooms away from him. The surety of that left him feeling almost drunk at times, an emotion he’d actively avoided until now.

When he’d accepted her offer to live with Leia, (at least most of the time), he had expected a great deal of changes; none of them wanted. But he’d agreed, because she had asked so sweetly, and after the loss of her parents, he couldn’t deny the woman he loved a thing that would make her happy.

Because Boba still felt that regret. He’d told Leia her family would be safe, that the Empire didn’t have a weapon capable of destroying a planet, no matter what the spy rumors said. But he had been wrong, and now, Dantooine, along with Leia’s family, were gone. He should have trusted the spy's intelligence. He should have done more. Bail Organa had hired him as a family bodyguard, after all, and he’d failed to protect the entire family.

Which was the other reason Boba agreed to stay. He’d promised to Bail that he would protect the royal family of Alderaan, and so, he remained on Alderaan, protecting its last princess.

Those sober thoughts do a great deal to calm the prior thoughts Boba experienced, and so, he leans against the couch’s back, trying hard to get comfortable.

The mission fails utterly.

The couch is simply too small, and his body too muscular, for the situation to work out. He’s known this for weeks now, but he, always a saver, even when romantically aligned with a princess of an incredibly wealthy planet, wasn’t ready to commit to buying a new couch for the sole reason of his comfort.

For Leia’s comfort, yes. But she was so delicate in body (though certainly not in spirit. Boba loved her fire, her stubbornness and her drive, even more than he did the sensual curves of her body) that she found the tiny, stupid couch perfectly comfortable. Fierfeking hells, she could actually curl up and nap on the damn thing.

She’d told Boba once that before he came back to her, that she had spent most of her nights on the couch, trying to fall asleep by reading various reports or ledgers, or even just staring off into the empty space of the window that used to be directly over her bed. When he’d come, he’d given her a reason to sleep in the large, canopied bed, even if he had personally boarded up the window. Too much of an assassination risk.

And she had let him. In general, the suite of rooms had been redecorated to fit both of their needs; closets for his armor and various weapons, a passageway for her safety. They made it work as they’d made their entire relationship work, through rational discussion, occasional heated arguments, and a good deal of make-up sex.

And he was right back at the earlier thoughts and hungers. He sits up, swinging booted feet onto the ground, and glancing at his comm at the same time. No message from Leia on the private line. On the more generic one, though, which all the bodyguards had access to, there was a singular message.

_Call me._

Eyebrow raised, Boba does as requested. Leia’s voice crackles over the comm link. “You awake?”

“‘Course,” he replies, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounds.

“Good.”

“Why’s that? Aren’t you always telling me to sleep?” Even as he teases, the more practical part of his brain checks through Leia’s schedule. He knows she’s well-guarded, especially at night. After his first year as Leia’s security detail, at Bail’s request (and paycheck) he’d hired three so-called true Mandalorians. They were strange, silent, and nearly fanatical in their religion, but they did their job damn well. Leia had tried to coax their names from them, but Boba never bothered. He referred to them by the color of their helmets. Durasteel, Crimson, and Violet. Tonight it would be Durasteel, the most silent of the lot, and the most dedicated. She was safe. He could unclench his fists.

“Well, yes,” Leia replies, and he can _see_ the little smile on her face. That same desire sparks once more, and this time, only grows as she speaks. “Because I thought it would be nice to know you were _thinking_ of me.” She toys with the word as skillfully as her hands could tease him. It’s enough to give him the idea, as reckless as it might be, to resolve his hunger himself.

“Oh yeah?” He leans back on the couch, his hand finding a familiar rhythm over his own aching need. His skin is warm to his touch, a warmth that had, before Leia, sometimes been the only thing that reminded him he was actually alive, actually more than an animated suit of Mandalorian armor. Now, though, around her, he’s a nexus of emotions and nerves, desires and thoughts, a thousand things he’d spent half a lifetime avoiding. “What sort of thoughts, princess?”

“Good thoughts,” she replies. “To keep you company while I wait for these meetings to end.”

“They're good thoughts,” he agrees, as his mind helpfully plays through various past moments spent in the heat of passion with her. The way her body arched when she climaxed, the moans she made when he tasted her, the way… His breath catches, and from the soft chuckle she makes, Leia hears it.

“I’m glad.” When he doesn’t respond, his hand pumping harder, his need more and more urgent, she adds, “I’ll be home in two hours. Why don’t you stay up for me?”

“Not likely,” he half-gasps out, unable to resist the witticism. Leia brought out that side of him, as much as she brought out his passion. His hand works, but it’s rough, nothing like Leia’s soft, delicate hands. Nothing like what he wants.

“Ah well. I’ll just have to wake you up and have you standing at attention again,” she says with a laugh, before hanging up the comm.

His release comes, hot and fast and good, though not nearly as much as it would have been had it been with her. As he washes up, that thought lingers. Before Leia, this form of pleasure had almost bit exclusively what he had, and what he needed. Now, it felt nearly hollow inside, not good enough to quell his hungers.

So when the door hisses open and Leia enters, Boba pounces. He slams one hand on the button to seal and lock the door, then, uses his other hand to trap her against the closed door. He kisses her before she has a chance to speak, tasting the expensive starblossom wine as much as he tastes her lips. Her perfume, just as exotic as the wine, fills his senses. She’s expensive, his princess. Expensive and rare and delicate, like all the things in her palace. But she’s his, and that’s what he reminds her of with his demanding kisses, moving down her neck, his hand shifting to her thigh to tug her up, until she lifts both legs, locking them around her waist.

Her dress, her hair, he hadn’t noticed. All he had seen, all he had wanted, was the light in her eyes when she saw him. Outside of this room, he kept his armor on. Inside, though, it was worth the risk to see her seeing him. They’d been through enough together, faced more than their share of battles and dangers, that any moment spent in relative peace feels like a prize more rare than any loot.

“Boba,” she whispers, as his hand tugs at her dress’s embroidered neckline.

“I want you,” he replies. “Now. Is that acceptable?”

She laughs, pausing to claim his mouth with a fierce kiss, before saying, “very acceptable. Though I’d assumed…” she trails off, a little smirk remaining on her face.

“Wasn’t good enough,” he mutters, fighting with the complicated folds on the front of the dress, keeping him from his target. “You’re better.”

“I’m glad.” She appears like she’s about to say more, until he lowers his head to her now-exposed breasts and lets his tongue dart over her already stiffened nipples. Then, her whole body arches, her legs tightening around his hips.

He’s half-inclined to just take her here, against the wall. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it sure as all hells wouldn’t be the last. But then, it would be over too soon… and he’d waited all night for this. So, he pulls back, only long enough to lift her into his arms, her head against his shoulder, and then, walks her across the room.

As soon as he places her on the bed, her arms reach up, pulling him down on top of her. She grinds against him, desperately seeking her release. Boba laughs, then, carefully pulls both of her hands over her head, pinning them there with one hand. “Patience, your highness,” he says teasingly, though his eyes lock onto hers, making sure she’s okay. She nods, giving him permission to continue. “You come after me.”

“But…”

“Is that a request?” his free hand slides under her back, cupping her firm rear. “Is that where you’d like me to focus my pursuits, your majesty?” His fingers squeeze just hard enough to make her gasp.

She shakes her head, her eyes as bright as forgotten stars. “But I got you a present. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“Why?” he sits up, allowing her to free herself. Leia takes advantage of the moment to climb into his lap, then, cups his face in her hands, her thumb stroking his evening stubble. She kisses him, her teeth grazing over his bottom lip. Boba leans forward, quite ready to continue, only to have her slide off of the bed and practically skip toward the small room she calls a closet.

“Because I wanted to get you one.” She punches in the combination, then, disappears inside. Boba folds his arms, eyebrows arched, waiting.

He’d expected complicated lingerie, or maybe some sort of food. What he certainly hadn’t expected was Leia tugging out an entire military-issue cot, a twin to the one aboard his ship. It’s almost as large as her, and if he wasn’t full of both desire and confusion, he’d have offered to carry it for her. As it is, he watches her stubbornly fight with the piece of furniture until it’s set up in the middle of their room.

Leia perches on the end of it. When Boba doesn’t move, she pats the edge of the cot. “Come,” she says.

“That’s what I’d been trying to do earlier,” he grumbles.

“Your puns tonight are beyond impressive,” Leia’s smile widens. “How lucky I am to be so familiar with your humor now.”

“Took you long enough,” he retorts, giving in to his heart’s demands and approaching the coat. He doesn’t sit though, choosing instead to stand in front of her, showing her everything he has to offer… and everything he wants.

Leia doesn’t miss the suggestion. She reaches out one perfectly manicured hand to stroke the outline of his desire. Even through the fabric of his jumpsuit, her warmth lingers. It’s just a teasing hint of what’s to follow, as she slowly tugs down his pants, kissing each inch of revealed skin, until finally, finally, she takes him fully into her mouth.

When she looks up at him, her eyes wide with excitement, it’s nearly enough to undo him early. So he closes his own eyes, resting his hand gently on the back of her head, never demanding, only suggesting a pace that pleases him. Leia hums happily, as if she’s waited as long for this as he has.

“Not yet,” he whispers.

She retreats, ending with a simple kiss that makes him moan. Then, as if reading his mind, she pulls off her dress, revealing all of her smooth skin for him to explore. “Let’s try out this bed,” Boba says, kneeling over her once more.

“It’s what you like, isn’t it?”

No. What he likes is right here, below him. Leia, looking up at him as if he’s worth more than every treasure in the damn palace, as if he’s all she’ll ever need. It’s what he wants to be to her, as stupid as it sounds, for as long as she’ll have him. He’s never found the words to tell her that, instead, trusting his silent actions will do enough to prove it. Even if she knows him better than anyone, even if she lets him show all the angles, both sharp and soft, no one else knows, he’s still never found a way to say the words that linger inside of him. Those words burn the most in moments like this, when their bodies melt together and the world around them falls away.

Boba takes his time, lingering in all the ways that Leia likes. She whispers a thousand things to him. Words always seem so easy for her. It’s why he tries for humor, because he can at least offer those as some sort of bridge between the mask he wears and the emotions he feels. It’s not enough, and what’s worse is that he knows it isn’t.

But for now, that and the gifts of his touch are all he can offer to the woman who claimed his heart. It feels like a low price for such a grand prize as her own heart, offered in return. It feels, sometimes, as if he owes her a debt he’ll never repay.

In this moment, though, he offers her all of his passion as a payment on that sum, bringing her to the edge and over, again and again, until she’s spent and he’s seconds away from his own release. Leia reaches up for him, her lips making the sound of his name, even if she's gasping too hard to say it. But that simple touch, that silent request, is enough. With his next breath, it occurs and it’s as brilliant as the leap into hyperspace. He gasps out her name once more, then, his body goes slack.

A moment later, he tumbles from the far more narrow cot, landing hard on the floor. His curses, ranging over five languages, with words banned in all of them, cause Leia to stir. Her giggles mingle with his swears as he stands, shaking his head. He offers her a hand. “I like your bed better,” he mutters, the statement embarrassing but true.

“Mm, I’m not surprised.” She lets him lead her back to the massive, padded, pillow-infested bed, and once he’s settled, she curls up, using his chest as a place to rest her head. Which, he thinks, only goes to show just how fucking useless the pillows are in the first place.

But as she sleeps, and Boba refuses to, he lets his thoughts wander, reflecting over not only tonight, but all of the events that led him here. There’s no trace of regret in his thoughts, not even if this is far from what he’d thought his life would be. Nor is there any hint of longing for something else. His hand reaches over to the arm Leia’s claimed as hers, and taps out a message on their private commlink. It’s the fourth message, the one he never thought he’d have a reason to send.

It’s three words he never thought he’d need to say.

It’s nothing, and yet, when the message flashes on Leia’s own comm, waiting for her to wake and see it, it feels like everything.

Boba closes his eyes. His thoughts quiet, as relaxation so deep one might dare to call it slumber, begins to take over. But for once, he’s at ease with the idea. He’s comfortable with surrender now, if only for a few minutes while Leia sleeps by his side.

He’s comfortable in this bed, in this place, with this woman.

Here, on Alderaan, he’s found a place as good as any to put his boots by the door and his head on a pillow, as his father used to say.

But a pillow. Singular. That’s all.


End file.
